


the boys of the nypd choir still singing

by lanyon



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, Phil and Clint get stuck cooking Christmas dinner. The most pressing issue is less that they can't actually cook and more the fact that this is all Phil's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the boys of the nypd choir still singing

“You got us into this mess,” says Clint, surveying the kitchen. It’s a fine kitchen. 

Phil nods. “Wait,” he says. “How’s this my fault?” 

“ _You_ were the one reminiscing about ye olde Yuletide celebrations in Portland.”

“It was for Cap!” says Phil. “Cap! He was all nostalgic and - and _sad_ and -”

“Red-white-blue-heroic,” says Clint. “I get it: Aw Cap. _This_ is still your fault, Phil.” 

Phil leans against the counter. “Pepper says just to ask JARVIS for the, uh, things we need-”

“Ingredients?” says Clint, helpfully.

“Yes,” says Phil. “Yes, those.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “How did we end up doing this?”

“Cooking for the Avengers?” 

Phil nods heavily.

“Your fault, remember? Keep up, Phil.”

_If I may interrupt, sirs, it was at Mr Stark’s insistence. Because you are and have been cohabiting, he deemed you the most domesticated and therefore the most likely to be able to cook Christmas dinner._

“Doesn’t he have staff for this sort of thing?”

 _He gave them the day off, Mr Barton._

“Ah.” Clint pauses. “JARVIS-?”

JARVIS sighs. It’s a definite sigh and nothing will convince Clint otherwise. _No, sir. I am not secretly a British man kept captive somewhere in Stark Tower._

Phil stares at Clint.

“I didn’t _really_ thinks so,” says Clint. “I know all the air ducts _pret_ ty well by now.” 

Phil takes out his phone.

“What’re you doing?”

“There has to be an app for this,” says Phil. 

“An app?”

“An app.”

“For cooking Christmas dinner?”

“ _Yes_ ,” says Phil, and he doesn’t sound hysterical because Phil Coulson is never hysterical but there’s a shallow furrow between his eyebrows and it’s freaking Clint out. It’s the Phil Coulson equivalent of a complete and catastrophic meltdown.

“You could,” says Clint, quietly. “You could call your mom.”

Phil’s lips twitch into a wry smile. “And admit that, at the age of fifty, I can’t do more than scramble eggs?”

“Ha,” says Clint. “See, that’s funny ‘cause it’s true.”

He holds his hand out and Phil resists for a good five seconds before taking unwilling step after unwilling step towards him. Clint wraps his fingers around Phil’s wrist and it’s so good to feel Phil’s pulse, calm and steady, despite everything. 

“Clint,” says Phil, slowly and almost sing-song. “We have a-”

“Don’t say mission, Phil. It’s not a mission. It’s just Stark’s foible.” Clint closes his fingers around Phil’s other wrist and pulls him closer. 

“We can’t let them down.” Phil rests his forehead against Clint’s.

“By ‘them’, you mean Cap, right?”

Phil nods but it’s okay because Clint’s not jealous. He kisses Phil softly. The best part is the way Phil kisses back, loose and slow, a whisper of lips. 

“This isn’t cooking,” says Phil.

“It’s pretty hot, though,” says Clint because, come on. Phil’s hands are on Clint’s upper arms, fingers digging in slightly, making old bruises flare and burn to life. 

“Shit, Phil,” says Clint, intelligently. Phil works a leg between Clint’s thighs and yeah, this isn’t cooking and it’s not app-searching and it’s certainly not calling Phil’s mom and Clint needs to cut down on that line of thinking and maybe grind down a bit on Phil’s leg because this is -

“Oh my god. I am so sorry.” 

Phil jerks back which Clint doesn’t like because now there’s nothing keeping his front warm and also nothing to hide the boner he’s been cultivating. 

“Ms Potts,” says Phil. He stammers it really. It’s cute. He’s not usually this flustered with Pepper but, then again, he’s not usually been caught making out with his fella in her kitchen, either.

“Tony just told me,” she says and, to be fair to the lady, she’s pretty cool, for all that her blood has burned. “Under no circumstances are you and Clint to cook for us. You’re _guests_ , oh my god.”

“Technically,” says Tony because, of course. “Technically they’re tenants who don’t pay rent.”

“We’re only here because you cried when we tried to turn you down,” says Clint. 

“There were no tears,” says Tony. “There was something in my eye.” He rubs at one of his eyes and when he pulls his hand away, he’s flipping the bird. Clint doesn’t miss the long-suffering expression exchanged by Phil and Pepper but that’s cool. He and Tony get each other and everyone else only wishes they could be so cool. 

“Everything okay?” 

Oh great. Now it’s Cap and he’s going to be so disappointed and Phil’s going to cry, or at least his lower lip might quiver manfully. 

“Everything is under control,” says Pepper, firmly, and, okay, maybe she’s Clint’s new hero (after Phil). “We’re going to order in a properly-catered Christmas dinner for tomorrow. It’s only fair.”

Steve nods, thoughtfully, and he doesn’t look too upset, which is good. He does look around the kitchen though. “What about all this food? It can’t go to waste.”

“Uh-” says Tony.

“Well-” says Phil.

“I’ll make sure it’s sent down to the homeless shelter on Eleventh,” says Pepper and Steve’s smile is bright enough to be blinding, in a season of fairy lights and a world of arc reactors. 

“It’s only fair,” says Steve, nudging Phil with his elbow, and Phil goes honest-to-God crimson. “We can’t have you guys missing out on all the fun upstairs.”

“Fun?” asks Phil. 

“Tony’s designed some new games console and he thinks I don’t understand how it works.”

“ _Hey_ ,” says Tony. “You’re a liar and a cheat, Cap. See if I set up a nonagenarian handicap for you next time.” 

“C’mon,” says Steve. “Let’s go hang out upstairs.”

“Go hang out,” says Tony, in raptures. “ _Go hang out_. You’re all up with what the kids are saying aren’t you, Cap?”

“All up with speaking English?”

“Hey, is this your phone, Agent?” asks Tony because he can’t quite cope with being out-sassed by Captain America, who’s Clint’s other hero (after Phil) (and after Pepper).

Clint’s half-way out the door when he hears Tony’s squawks of outrage. “You were trying to find a _Christmas dinner app_?” 

Clint’s half-way up the stairs, reaching back for Phil’s hand, when he hears Tony’s murmur. “Though that’s not such a bad idea.”


End file.
